she dreams of broken hourglasses
by burnedinashes
Summary: She can picture it already: she's on a beach, the sun blazing in all its glory, the balmy wind playing with the ends of her hair, and the woman of her dreams curled around her. It's all there, and it can all just as easily crumble and spill into the sand beneath her—unsalvageable. FW 2014, Day 1, UST


**I apologize in advance for how wordy this gets at some points. It was really a last minute decision to write for Faberry week. **

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**Disclaimers to be found on my profile.**

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In waking, the first thing she feels is the sun's heated breath settling over her skin. It's a tepid kiss, a brush over a tanned cheek, accompanied by the essence of aloe, coconut, and something indisputably human.

There is the most delicate of breezes assuaging the mild tingle the rays tickle the left side of her body with and it's delectable in every single way. For a long moment, Rachel is reluctant to open her eyes.

Everything she feels around her body is satisfying in ways she didn't know existed; if opening her eyes means she might lose it all, she's willing to deprive the world of the portals to her soul.

With the most miniscule of movements, a discrepancy in the sources of heat nature's provided her with makes itself evident. Even without looking, it's apparent that the sun is what's bearing down her left side, but there are three other readings her body can gauge.

Behind her, it's obvious part of her back is shaded, yet still warm from the air and the rising waves of heat that are likely swirling from the sand she just knows she's resting above. Her right side presses against the individual bands of the long-chair she's sharing with someone, the heat from her own body circulating to and fro in the rubbery material. Which brings her to the heat in front of her.

It's glaringly evident now that the aloe, coconut, and _skin_ are not purely drifting from her own body to her senses. No, her fingers can trace over a thinly designed material, can feel the knotted tie of what she assumes is a bikini top, and they are not her own.

"She wakes," a voice purrs, low timbre. There's an inflection in the words, a smile in its delivery, and it coincides with the feel of thin fingers combing through the silky brown hair at her temple.

Rachel only mumbles a _mmm _inreply, too lost in the incredible way a few nails scratch her scalp _just so_ to generate any actual words.

"Rachel," the voice teases, the pout in it a palpable property. "Open your eyes."

"No," she replies, too stubborn to risk watching the moment shatter.

She can picture it already: she's on a beach, the sun blazing in all its glory, the balmy wind playing with the ends of her hair, and the woman of her dreams curled around her. It's all there, and it can all just as easily crumble and spill into the sand beneath her—unsalvageable.

They're sharing altogether too much space; Rachel can feel it.

She can feel it just as distinctly as she can feel the sheen of sweat on her lower back.

It's a tangible feeling, the fact that her head is resting on a slim shoulder and her legs are tangled in a pair longer than her own. She's too close and, once her eyes open, she'll be gone.

"Rach," the voice continues to taunt her. This time, a kiss is pressed to her forehead just a second later and her breath stills. Only one person has ever used _that_ particular spot before, the one directly above the small scar she'd gotten on her twenty-first birthday.

She's had dreams like this before, only to wake up devastated and at the mercy of her own tattered heart.

"Why are you hiding from me?" It's _her_ voice, Rachel's sure now, and she squeezes her eyes tighter in a futile attempt to remain in the dream.

This time the kiss lands on her nose and she's terrified that a third might be approaching because she's positive that once it happens, she'll never be able to go back. It won't matter that it doesn't technically count; she _will _fracture and splinter, and pieces of her will catch onto things and break apart and she will never be whole.

"_Baby,"_ the voice sings one last time and she's so close her lips brush against Rachel's as they move to form the word. Rachel's hand clenches hard around the knot she discovered earlier and she feels the wetness that leaks out of the corners of her eyes.

The anticipation of the kiss aches more than she thought, but Rachel knows the swift tearing sensation she's going to feel when she wakes up is going to be drastically worse.

When it finally happens, and the woman's lips slide against her own, there is absolutely nothing Rachel can do to prevent the _Quinn_ that slips out in a trembling whisper.

"There you are," Quinn says as she pulls away.

Now that it's all going to end soon, Rachel ultimately decides to be in control of her own heartbreak. Opening her eyes, she's met with the most stunning view she'll never get the chance to see again.

Quinn's usually pale complexion is painted over in a sun-kissed shade of beautiful, her hair is radiant, and she's wearing a white sheer cover-up over a bikini that's just as white.

She is the very image of everything that Rachel will never have, and the brunette is just waiting for the mirage to evaporate into reality so she can have more time to mend what little of herself will be left after this.

Only, some higher power has a sick sense of humor because, instead of anything fading away, Quinn just lifts Rachel and moves fully beneath her, keeping their legs tangled. The unexpected movement leaves the smaller woman unbalanced and Rachel plants her forearms on either side of Quinn's ribs to stabilize herself.

A second whimper, this one on the opposite side of the spectrum, escapes Rachel when Quinn takes advantage of their new position and lifts her thigh up so it lands right where the brunette's legs meet.

"I missed you," she says before tugging on Rachel's hair and pulling her in for a much deeper kiss than the one before it. It takes a few seconds, but she relents to the kiss when she realizes she doesn't have anything to lose.

It isn't until she accidently moans that Rachel tears her mouth away from Quinn's and blinks at how hot her back feels.

"Rachel?" the other woman asks, her left thumb stroking across a tan cheekbone. "What's wrong?"

"I…" she tries to speak, but trails off. She closes her eyes again, trying to get a grasp on the situation.

"I warned you to put on sunscreen, Rach."

It's still Quinn's voice she hears, but the Quinn beneath her—oh.

In waking, this time to reality, Rachel feels only the heat of the sunburn scorching her back, the soothing coolness of the aloe, and the negligible smattering of the pinpoints of warmth from Quinn's fingers as she gently applies the lotion.

The only breeze present is the one produced by the air conditioner in her hotel room—the room she didn't even have to pay for because she was only there in place of Quinn's fiancé, who'd gotten called in for an emergency meeting at his company.

"I know, Quinn," she sighs, burying her face in an overly-fluffed pillow. "I know."

She only wishes Quinn—the woman she's been best friends with for seven years and in love with for five—_knew,_ too. But the blonde will never know, and Rachel tries to tamper-down on the self-pity that bubbles up when she accepts that she will never be more than a consolation prize to Quinn on the days that Darren bails on her.

He's a good guy, really, but she still wishes she'd never fucking opened her eyes.


End file.
